Happy Birthday
by LickMyThermometer
Summary: The first time it came up, Wilson was drunk. Twoparter, HW slash. Now complete! Mind the rating.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Preslash. Second chapter will be graphic slashy goodness. If that might offend you, take heed and go elsewhere.

* * *

The first time it ever came up, Wilson was drunk. Severely. 

"Is it really that hard to keep it in your pants?" House knew that Wilson wasn't exactly after a lecture right now, but he was so annoyed he couldn't quite help himself.

"I don't _mean _to," Wilson gushed, gesturing wildly enough to spill liquor everywhere. "I _loved _her. I do. I love her. It's just…"

"Just not enough to overcome the lure of Joanne," House guessed. "A secretary with the tits of an angel. I can hardly blame you. Finish that." Wilson obediently downed the last of his scotch, and House took the glass away from him without a word.

"Hey – I'm not done drinking here; this is serious!"

He limped over to the fridge and got out cans of beer. "I don't need broken glass all over my floor. Drown your sorrows in aluminum instead."

"Thanks. Sorry. I don't know. I just… I don't know how to break the pattern. Every woman I get serious with, every wife, every girlfriend… it's always the same thing."

"So stop getting serious with women," House tossed off, expecting Wilson to roll his eyes and declare that prostitutes were not for everyone.

Instead, Wilson laughed nervously into his beer can. "I'm not gay, House."

There was something a little steely in the tone, which struck House as odd. Wilson didn't seem to have noticed him noticing, so he kept his voice light and just answered, watching: "Never said you were."

"Good. Because I always sleep with women."

"_Women_ in the plural… which is your problem." House was now sure he detected a blush that couldn't be explained by just the alcohol. Before it occurred to him that he should leave well enough alone, he poked Wilson with his cane and asked, "What aren't you telling me, Jimmy?"

Wilson looked up, panicked. "What?"

Well, now he sure as _hell _wasn't going to let it go. "Come on," he reasoned, "If you say it now you can always swear off it later… but if you wait til you're sober and I worm the secret out of you _then_, you won't be able to attribute it to the booze and then you'll _really_ be screwed."

"There's-… there's nothing to say, House. No secret."

"That deer-in-the-headlights look begs to differ." House flashed an innocent smile, knowing that even if he was too drunk to bust out his very best acting skills, Wilson was _far _too drunk not to be fooled. "Cmon, tell me. It's no big deal," he assured, jostling him gently. He told himself he was probably wrong, he _had _to be… but he couldn't resist finding out for sure. "Tell Uncle Greggy. _Brokeback_ _Mountain_ push your buttons, is that it?"

He held his breath, waiting for Wilson to crack up, deny it, get grossed out, _something._

Instead Wilson laughed, "More than you know," and then froze. "I did not just say that."

"Wow," House breathed, and scooted away a little. _Very mature, Greg_.

"No – it's not-…" Wilson started to reach for him, changed his mind and squeezed his beer until the can buckled. "I'm not, I'm _not _gay," he said again, forcefully. "Really. I've never been with a man in my life."

House couldn't resist: "Me neither."

"I mean it's not… I'm not gay. I just think... I think maybeIhavekindofacrushonyou."

"Say what?" House said, for time. He already knew he'd understood it perfectly.

"I said I think that maybe I-"

"No you don't," House argued. "You just… got some wires crossed or something. It'll go away. Go screw Joanne again. That rack will turn anybody straight." Snarling at himself every step of the way for being such a pussy, House got up and started clearing up the remains of their dinner. "Look, I gotta go to bed, I have to get up early tomorrow."

"Renewing your library card? Flossing your cat?" Wilson put his head in his hands. "Don't do this, House. I need you."

"Yeah, that's… the problem, isn't it?"

"Not _that_!" Wilson groaned. "I mean you're my friend, remember? I've had a crappy week. Please."

Suddenly, listening to Wilson whine about his girl troubles no longer seemed quite so objectionable. "Fine," House agreed. "Sober up and we'll get lunch tomorrow. If you need to moan about your depressing little life I can probably stand it for a couple of minutes. As long as it's about Joanne, and you're buying."

Neither of them tried for eye contact while Wilson got his coat on. "Okay, I'll… call you tomorrow."

And it went without saying that they weren't going to mention this ever again.

* * *

House took quick peeks out of the corner of his eye often, but couldn't catch Wilson so much as _looking _at him funny in the days that followed. He thought about trying to just forget it, but it was too weird standing in the bathroom peeing next to a guy who maybe… 

Eventually he had to ask. "So… how's… you know… your little _problem_?"

It had been two weeks since the drunken confession and Wilson didn't immediately register. "My what?"

"Your…" House lowered his voice and looked both ways before spelling it out. "You know, your _spinal_ difficulty…"

Wilson frowned, then got it and had to laugh. "Are you asking me if my back is still broken?"

"Mm-hmm."

He sighed. "I regret to tell you that my _condition_ has not improved."

* * *

After another week or two had gone by… 

"Hey. So, I was thinking of upgrading Steve McQueen's living arrangements…"

"Why – what's wrong with the cage he-…" Wilson grit his teeth, closed his eyes. "No, House," he said after a moment. "If you're asking whether Steve should be moved into a _birdcage,_ my feelings on the matter remain unchanged."

"Okay, okay… just asking."

* * *

More time passed. 

Wilson stopped by with a tin. "Patient's mom made cookies for me," he explained. "So, as usual, I figure you're entitled to half."

"Nice!" House tore into them. "You should save more people, instead of killing everyone," he said around a mouth full of crumbs. "Then we could have cookies every day."

"Or, _you _could try and be nice to patients, and then you might get cookies of your own," Wilson countered. "But you're right, it's probably easier for me to just find a way of curing cancer. D'you plan on saving any of those for me?"

House sighed and held one out. "Here. Although… speaking of dessert, I was-"

By now Wilson recognized where this was going. "If it contains the word _fudge_, I don't want to hear it," he anticipated. "How long before you run out of creative ways to ask?"

"I'm trying to be discreet here, Jimmy…"

"Believe me: if I get over you you'll be the first to know. I'll be ecstatic. I'll throw a party. Okay? Okay. Until then stop asking. Or I'll embarrass you right back."

"Yeah?" As usual, House couldn't resist the dare.

"Yeah. I'll _say_, out loud, that I want to sleep with you." House winced. "That your eyes are magnetic. And if you _still_ don't stop, I'll threaten-"

"Don't you dare!" House turned and started to limp away.

"To think about you-"

"Can't hear you!"

House was all the way down the hallway but he still shouted it after him. "- In the _SHOWER_!"

And Wilson figured that would be the end of it.

* * *

TBC. 

I'll post the end of this probly tomorrow, and then back to Pain Management. Sorry for the delay on that. I've been away, but I'm back now.


	2. Chapter 2

The second time they really talked about it, it was House who was drunk. Severely.

It was Wilson's birthday. He had spent it alone because he and House had had vague plans to spend the day together, and then House had gone MIA for all day and most of the evening. It was now 10PM, and Wilson was about ready to give up.

He was already in his pyjamas when the doorbell rang.

"House?" He wanted to kick himself for sounding pathetic.

"Lemme in."

He felt the rush of joy drain out of him. "You're drunk." Nevertheless he opened the door.

"Hi," House said sloppily. "Happy birthday. Can I come in?"

Wilson's hands were on his hips. "Actually, House, I don't know," he began, then raised his voice til even a drunk guy would realize he was upset. "I waited for you all day, which I know in retrospect I'm an idiot for doing, but you could at least have called me to cancel!"

"I'm not canceling – I'm here."

"Yeah – you're here _now_, at _night_, already wasted. Probably as an afterthought on your way home from some _bar_!"

"No." House grinned. "This isn't the afterthought, this is the _thought_. The bar was a _forethought_, really." Whatever that meant, it obviously amused him. "Just let me in, okay? I brotcha a present."

Although he was still furious, Wilson had nothing better to do and so he moved away from the door.

House lurched past him and settled in – coat off, bag down, jacket unbuttoned. "So…"

He seemed nervous, and Wilson felt his mood lift a little. If House was nervous it meant he'd picked out something he worried about being mocked for… probably something that had some kind of emotional significance.

Wilson eyed the bag and couldn't see any suspicious bulges. Small, then. His present was something small.

House saw where his eyes were going. "Gold-digger," he accused.

"Well, you said you-"

"It's not something tangible. Well…" House frowned as though thinking. "In a way it's _very _tangible, but…"

"Quit screwing around. Did you actually get me something?" It was important to him all of a sudden to know whether House had forgotten him completely or not.

"Yeah. Um… you know how a while back there was that thing you said… mm…"

"How could I forget? You've reminded me at least once a week." Wilson heaved a sigh. Now what? A gag gift, a subscription to Playgirl maybe… _this _is what he'd gotten his hopes up for?

"Yeah, you remember," House chuckled drunkenly. "Anyway, with that in mind, I'm giving you something you might enjoy." Holding perfect eye contact, he hooked his cane over his wrist and brought his hands to his shirt buttons. "Me."

Wilson stood speechless while House fumbled, and didn't find his voice until after House said: "Seems I'm too drunk to undress without help, but I am _never _too drunk to fuck."

"To…" The word hung on the air for a moment. House was probably just going for the shock value. "You're not serious."

"_You _said you wanted it."

He sounded almost defensive. Wilson could hardly believe his ears. "Yeah – and _you_ didn't!"

"Right. Because it's fucking _weird_, and it probably hurts," House explained. "But I'm currently plastered enough not to care about either." He finally finished with his dress shirt, and dropped it to a chair. His cane clattered to the floor and he fished a box of condoms out of his pocket. "I'm serious."

It was the condoms that did it – they were lubricated and smooth, not the ribbed ones he carried around for use with women. He really had gone shopping with this evening in mind. Wow.

Wilson sighed. In a way it was appealing, the idea of getting hold of House with his inhibitions down and doing everything he'd been hesitant to even fantasize about… but he still had morals. "House, you're drunk."

"So?"

"So, while I appreciate the gesture, I can't take you up on it," he explained patiently. "You're so out of your mind it wouldn't be consensual."

House was digging again in his pocket. "I _knew _you'd go and bust out the r-word," he slurred triumphantly. "Here." He handed over his cell phone, which blinked with a new voicemail. "Password's 3443."

Mystified, Wilson took the phone and called up the message. The cheerful operator's voice informed him that it had been received at 5:47PM.

_If you're hearing this, _House's voice said, _It means I'm standing in front of you blind drunk and you're refusing to sleep with me until I'm sober. Well, I'm sober now, and I think you should go ahead with it. I might like it, you **will **like it, and I want to give you something you wanted for your birthday. Enjoy. Um… _A short pause. _Begentlewithmeokay? Okay, bye._

Wilson handed the phone back. "Wow."

"Consent when I'm sober, consent when I'm drunk, how much more consent do you need?" House snorted. "Besides, how can you tell these magnetic eyes no?"

Wilson stepped closer, still somewhat dazed. House slapped a hand up to cup his jaw roughly. "Really," he assured, with a smile that, though boozy, was pure affection.

So, as much to see what would happen as anything else, Wilson put both hands behind his neck and pulled him down for a kiss.

* * *

After just the barest hesitation, House kissed back – drunk as a skunk and with his eyes closed, he didn't exactly remember what was going on or why he'd been apprehensive about it. He opened his mouth and delivered his best: forcing his tongue in deep, sucking fiercely on his partner's bottom lip, stealing the air straight from her lungs. He heard a low moan – not feminine – and definitely not his. He opened his eyes in confusion, then closed them again because he forgot why he'd _been _confused…

… they were on a bed, him lying on his back, someone tugging his pants off. Sweet! Apparently he was getting some ass tonight. He moaned appreciatively and laced his hands behind his head. Lips on his, some more enthusiastic making out…

… "Hey," he complained thickly when the delicious teasing stopped. There had been a warm hand in his boxers, and now it was…

… "House. _House_."

His eyes fluttered open but he couldn't make out much. He knew that voice though. " Wilson?" he realized, confused.

"Oh, God. I _knew _you were too drunk to do this!" Accusing and distressed both. House focused his entire intellect on remembering why. Wilson. Wilson _liked _him… ah yes. The birthday. That's why he was so drunk in the first place. The disembodied caresses of a few minutes ago suddenly made sense. He and Wilson were about to get it on.

That is… unless Wilson was backing out.

It was difficult, but House managed to sit up. "I am not too drunk," he enunciated as best he could. "I am very drunk, yes. But not too."

"You're only halfway conscious!"

"So? We round up. I'm conscious. Are you gonna tell me you don't want it?" He groped around for Wilson's crotch, and when he finally found it, discovered an erection. "Aha. You'd be lying."

Despite himself Wilson arched into the touch.

House smirked at him loopily. "So now _you're _the innibitted one, zthat it? Go get yourself a drink."

Thrilled at the plan because it allowed him a second to get _away _from this weirdness and think things over, Wilson jumped up. "If you pass out before I get back, deal's off."

When he returned, a glass of scotch in one hand and a poptart in the other, House was sprawled out with his eyes closed.

"Not passed out, Jimmy," he anticipated.

Stifling his grin, Wilson sat down on the bed beside him and pressed the poptart into his hand. "Food will help you."

House sat up, with aid. "Thanks."

House was in nothing but boxers, and now that he had permission to stare Wilson was noticing things about his body that he never had before. Like the rock-hard muscles of his right shoulder. "Jesus, House," he breathed, reaching out to touch.

When House only shrugged and didn't object, he scooted around to sit behind him for a massage. "Let me."

Purring with pleasure, occasionally moaning things like _oh god _and _yeah, harder_, House seemed to have laid aside his disturbingly forthright seduction plans for the moment. Wilson wondered if this meant there was no nooky in their future. By way of asking, he leaned close and sucked gently on House's neck.

"Mmm," House said, rolling his head to the side to give better access. "Okay."

Wilson came to sit beside him again and kissed him on the mouth. It tasted like booze and poptart, not usually an appealing combination but Wilson wasn't about to complain as House collapsed back against the pillows, pulling him down on top. While they made out, a drunk hand started fumbling its way towards his groin again.

"House- House please," he gasped, breaking the kiss. He fought to think, as House licked at his collarbone. "You know I don't want you to -_oh_- do anything you don't want to do." He pried House away and held him to the bed, staring down into his eyes. "But if you're going to say no, tell me now. Or it will be torture."

House snickered at the idea, but assured, "I'm not going to say no." He was so wasted he could hardly roll his eyes properly. "Stop worrying. Get condoms."

Wilson got them. And lube, lots of lube. Before he could second-guess himself again, he slicked up his hand, scooted between House's drawn-up knees, and reached up the leg of his boxers.

"Ohboy," House gasped when the first fingertip breached his asshole.

The power was intoxicating. "You sure about this?" Wilson asked, but he was already pressing a second finger in beside the first.

"Yeah- _ah!_" Wilson didn't stop. House was intimately familiar with pain, he figured, and if he wasn't complaining then this had to be okay. Already his body was relaxing a little, already the vicelike grip around Wilson's fingers was starting to loosen. He pushed himself groggily up to his elbows and threw a pointed look at Wilson's tented underwear. "_He's _sure about this."

In and out, in and out, Wilson stretched him with just the tips of his fingers. He didn't want to hurt his friend, wouldn't want to make him bleed… but when he buried himself in all the way he wanted House to feel it like he'd never felt anything before in his life.

"I think I'm ready," House said after a bit.

"You sure?" Wilson touched his cheek, his chest. "I don't want to hurt you…"

"Heh, I'm so drunk you couldn't hurt me with a sledgehammer."

That, Wilson knew, was probably true. As House struggled out of his boxers, he rolled on a condom and lubed up. He scooted House's legs up and paused for one more second. As soon as he got a nod, he pressed forward, feeling House spread around him, letting him in.

It was a tight fit – barely comfortable for Wilson and certainly not for his partner. House's hands clutched at the sheets beneath him and his eyes widened. "Oh god oh jeez" he babbled as Wilson pushed steadily in until he could go no further. House's hips were twitching, and the instinctive urge to soothe a boo-boo by touch had his hands migrating to his inner thighs, squeezing convulsively.

Wilson pried him loose one hand at a time. He lavished soft tonguey kisses on the inside of each wrist and then pressed House's arms gently to the mattress.

He leaned forward over him, moving his hips carefully for just a little friction.

House was so tight that the slide in and out was slow, laborious… and completely perfect. "God, House," Wilson breathed as he ground into him. "How are you?"

"I'm-…" House cleared his throat, tried again. "I'm okay." His eyes had stopped their drunken fluttering and were now fixed, wide and dark, on Wilson's. There was more pupil than there ought to be, and Wilson was thrilled to think that his friend was getting a sexual charge out of it… confused and conflicted though it might be. House licked his lips. "Um. Kiss me…?"

"Yeah." Wilson bent low over him, forcing his legs up a little higher, and kissed him. He could thrust with more leverage from here and couldn't resist doing it, not when it made House groan helplessly into his mouth.

House's kiss was hard and desperate and tasted very much like whiskey. He bit Wilson's lip hard, and grabbed hold of him as though looking for support.

Wilson pulled back a little to stroke his hair soothingly, even as his hips drove harder and went deeper. "Still all right? Let me-…"

He struggled to find a way of wedging his hand in between their bodies, wanting to give his partner the hand job of his life, but House stopped him. "No," he whispered hoarsely. "I think it's _your _turn to be selfish with _me _for a change, steada the other way round." He pulled Wilson down to kiss him one more time, lifting his hips as best he could.

At the invitation, verbal and physical, Wilson abandoned all thoughts of holding back for his partner's comfort. He pounded in hard, feeling House's body jerk beneath him, and pulled out through the spasming tightness, just to do it again, again, harder.

It felt _incredible _of course… but more than that, it was _House _and House was taking it. Wilson lost his head the way he never had with a woman. A wave built inside him amazingly quickly, crested, and he drove forward with all his weight. He made noise. He finished with his head thrown back and eyes squeezed closed, seeing stars as House's body milked him for every drop he had.

When it had finally passed, he looked down. House, too, had his eyes closed, and was breathing hard through grit teeth. Maybe it had hurt some. Hell, it had probably hurt a _lot_. "Hey." Wilson touched his cheek.

House's eyes flew open and he snarled, "Asshole."

Wilson recoiled, horrified, and yanked free. What had he done? What in God's name had he been thinking to-

"You fucking _asshole,_" House groaned again. He rolled slowly, painfully onto his side, facing away.

Wilson felt sick.

Until House drunkenly mumbled a better birthday present than he could ever have expected: "It was _just _starting to feel good."

* * *

The End, I suppose. 

Leave me love!


End file.
